


There She Sits

by castiel (carry_on_my_destiel_fans)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Mentions of Sam and Dean - Freeform, this might be really depressing, who knows how this will turn out tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:44:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_my_destiel_fans/pseuds/castiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Impala reminisces over her past life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There She Sits

**Author's Note:**

> I was on Instagram and I noticed that someone had posted a picture of an old car. Their caption talked about her yearning to be touched again, and I immediately thought of the Impala after the boys have left their journeys of saving people, hunting things, continuing the family business; after they died for good and she was left to rust. Anyway, I'm having Impala feels. Enjoy.

There she sits.

That old rusty car.

In the winter, snow would pile up and cover her once-black body in mounds of soft flakes. In the spring, dandelions and wheatgrass would grow into the crevasses of her tires.

No one knows exactly where she came from; there are rumors, but she's been there for so long, it's hard to know what's real and what's a fable.

The favored story is one about two boys. Brothers, actually. Hunting down their father, they drove her through long, windy roads and dusty, useless fields. She stored their weapons and tools in her trunk, aiding them in their missions to save the world. She was a hero in those stories. She always got them out in the nick of time.

Not to mention there were initials carved into the back door. They helped feed the imagination of the rebellious kids playing recklessly on her used frame. Maybe it was the two boys, tired after a long day, making their mark on the car that changed them.

But it wasn't always fame and glory for the old car.

Her patched up exterior showed scars from the times she didn't save them; the times she couldn't save them.

Like the time that semi hit her.

And her boys were sent to the hospital, only one of them conscious enough to realize what was happening.

She was sent to a junk yard. She hated it, not knowing where they were; waiting, day after day, to feel the loving touch of the older brother on her old metal.

Of course, they did finally save her.

And she got patched up.

But only two of them were there. Things would be different and she knew that. She became the solid ground upon which the brothers stood. She was more than a car now - she was their home. Sure, they never had a roof and four walls, but because of her, they were never, in fact, homeless. She loved them dearly.

She missed them greatly.

Sometimes a man came to sit with her.

He would caress her worn body and lay his head on her hood.

If children were abusing her, he would yell at them and shoo them away. He didn't want their grubby fingers and destructive toys touching her.

Sometimes he would sing to her. It was usually an old song, and he would repeat the chorus over and over.

 _Carry on, my wayward son._ _There will be peace when you are done._ _Lay your weary head to rest._ _Don't you cry no more._

Sometimes he'd open the door and sit gingerly on her moth-eaten leather. He'd run his hands over the steering wheel and close his eyes.

Sometimes he would cry.

Eventually, like everything else the old car loved, he disappeared.

If cars could weep, she'd be weeping.

You could see in the way her tires sagged and her bumper fell that she was giving up. She yearned to be touched; she begged to be loved.

She was tired of holding on.

Her boys were gone.

Her angel was gone.

Her will was gone.

All the stories were true, they found out. Everything that brave car did was true. She rescued the heroes of the world and was left to rust in the harsh environments. She was famous, then she was forgotten.

Eventually, she was undistinguishable. No one could tell that she was an '67 Impala. In fact, it was hard to tell she was even a car.

She tried to hold on. She knew the legacy of the boys died with her.

But, like for everything, death is inevitable.

And one day,

she was gone.

There she sat,

until she couldn't anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had has many feels as I had over this. I really enjoyed writing it, even though it's not very long. I might do more like this in the future. Please comment if you liked it!


End file.
